


Unfinished Business

by royal_blue43



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Dark Magic, Demons, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, Mind Rape, Psychological Trauma, Relationship(s), Saiyans, Suspense, True Love, Unrequited Love, bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_blue43/pseuds/royal_blue43
Summary: Evil's delirium possessed Vegeta when he furiously asked Son Goku and Shin, the Supreme Kai, "Is it slavery when you get what you want?" Devastated from shock, his lover Bulma lay unconscious as he uttered those fateful words. Now, after years of marriage, those words haunt...





	1. Lovely Little Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> This is my official disclaimer. The mature subject matter has been noted in the tags clearly. Thank you for reading!

**"The point of revenge is not in the completion but in the process." -- Park Chan-wook**

Bulma had forgotten how oppressively humid and uncomfortable rainforests could be. This one was far, far below Earth's equator -- perhaps next to hell. For all of her smarts, her clothing choices had been a horrific comedy of strategic errors. This had never been a problem before -- before she married her energetic husband and had two energetic kids.

Maybe she was getting old.  
  
_The hell I am,_ she thought, wiping her forehead defiantly. _That's absurd._   

She wasn't fully menopausal yet. Even if she were, hormone therapy had advanced and become far less dangerous for humans, both male and female. She could maintain her rightful place as one of the horniest, most beautiful women on the planet well into old age. Her husband, on the other hand, probably would live until he was five-hundred as the strapping, handsome, muscled god that he had been for what seemed like forever.   
  
Vegeta wasn't a god, of course, but he was as close as any mortal considering his power and stature in the universe. And, actually, he probably wouldn't live past 125, until rapid aging killed him within days. All Saiyans who managed to live that long suffered that fate.

Bulma, however, expected Vegeta to live eighty years beyond that, pissing her off for amusement. Neither would reincarnate before seeing the other once more. She probably would have to haunt him at night, cursing in his ear, "Just die already, you jerk!"  
  
For safety reasons, Vegeta would have been unhappy knowing no one had escorted his wife through this now largely unblemished part of Earth. The Elysian rainforest stayed that way for centuries when humanoids finally figured out such places required careful defense to protect the planet's climate. Earth's last indigenous peoples lived on the outskirts, entering denser areas only for basic supplies to continue ancient traditions.    
  
Bulma felt that any scientist worth her weight in molecules could get wherever she wanted. She had been an eager voyager as a teen, and it's not like land navigational tools didn't exist -- plain old paper maps, too. Besides, she had spent her life building the finest equipment for those who _weren't_ _even from Earth_ , including her grumpy husband.  
  
However, she found it strange that no Dragon Ball had _ever_ landed in this rainforest's deepest parts when Shenron, the magical dragon, dispersed them after granting wishes. Had Bulma informed friends of her plans, namely Master Roshi and his sister Baba the fortuneteller, both would have advised her to rethink visiting for that reason alone.  
  
She was familiar with certain plants and animals there but also knew not to pull hanging strings, because _anything_ could fall on her head. Her infrared tracker emitted a few low beeps. Sound bounced off what appeared to a moss-covered rock formation, transmitting data to her watch. She took a few more steps, looking gingerly from left to right.  
  
She should have looked down.

* * *

  
A curious melon-shaped bird dropped on the intrepid scientist's shoulder, scaring the living shit out of her. After losing equilibrium, her body launched on a downward slide through a ravine. She had no time to scream. A sturdy rope on her belt automatically seized her waist, offering time to flip around and slam hooked bolts into solid rock.  
  
A thankful, sweat-soaked Bulma sighed with relief. _If I don't die here, Vegeta will try to kill me when he and Goku return from that godforsaken planet_. _He'll just have to get over it anyway. I've been an explorer forever._  
  
In reality, she knew her husband understood her wanderlust better than anyone. Her determined, adventurous spirit had attracted him when they first met. He probably wouldn't have fussed _as much_. But she hadn't been as careful or discussed her plans before his trip, laying groundwork for a colossal argument later of her own making.  
  
She couldn't dwell on that long. She had much to take in.

Her head shook with disbelief while observing a fertile valley below. It looked _nothing_ like the landscape she trekked through earlier. A cave roof collapsed, exposing pitted limestone walls. Sunlight brightened the center, which featured radiant trumpet-shaped pink and purple blossoms speckled with condensation. No animals seemed to be present -- or, rather, nothing she had to worry about according to her tracking devices.   
  
"I have to get down there," she said like a wide-eyed child. "No one outside of here said anything. This place is beautiful!"A steamy hot spring sat several yards back, enhancing the plants' aromatic, exhilarating fragrance. She wondered how long ago this part of the cave toppled _._  
  
After carefully lowering to solid ground, she felt a strong desire to remove her boots. Normally she wouldn't. Myriad creatures and bacteria probably lurked in the mud, but a liberating sensation urged her to cast those cares aside.  
  
_What's the big deal? I've been vaccinated for enough diseases to fill five medical manuals._ _Let's do this._ The soil felt moist and warm between her toes. She threw her helmet aside, dreamily inhaling as flowers parted on both sides of her footsteps. She stood grinning beneath the sunlight, hands on her hips.   
  
She took her clothes off, casually scattering pieces on her path. She never felt this free before, not even with her husband.

It felt right.  
  
A gentle wind pushed welcoming blossoms into her legs. Velvety petals lingered like friendly kittens as she greeted them. Her body swayed as the flowers' stamen brushed her face with dew, releasing more enticing perfume. Her nose blushed pink as she sneezed, making her laugh.

She laid back, allowing a sensuous canopy to cover her body. Flowers fondled her nipples and thighs as she masturbated over them, increasing her blissful trance. The spell rapidly devoured her sensibilities.  
  
"Yes _,_ " soft voices whispered. "Let your breathing cleanse you."  
  
Bulma's back curved as her enchanted form floated above ground. Two beautiful women dressed in tightly woven fabric appeared. Their attire, adorned with striking geometric designs, enhanced their red-ochre skin and green eyes.

One with black locks smiled sweetly, twisting a misbehaving curl in their newfound treasure's hair. The nymph's finger unfurled, summoning a stem to arise like a cobra. Purple blossoms opened wide, emitting a steamy mist under Bulma's flared nostrils.

She sighed as the other seized her arm, urging more masturbation. "Don't stop," the white-haired nymph purred. "You are _meant_ to be here."  
**  
** Erotic drowsiness weighed Bulma's wits down. The devious nymphs clearly enjoyed toying with her sharp-edged mind. And yet her fogged consciousness whispered a vision. A man with love in his eyes reached out for her. He looked strong -- but also hurt.

"Vegeta?" she mumbled. "I…"

The spirit-women flanking her levitating body smiled.  
  
Their calculating eyes did not.  
  
"You are meant to be here," the black-haired nymph said, gracefully parting Bulma's lips with a nimble finger. "You are special."  
  
"Why am I… why do I feel like this?" Bulma replied with puzzlement. She tried holding on to the previous vision, but it slipped away. "Who…who are you?"  
  
The woman responded with a kiss. "You are in no danger," she said, confidently expecting her advance to be returned. "Let yourself relax, dear one." Bulma watched languidly as the nymph's hand gently parted her thick, throbbing vaginal folds. Silky fingers entered, comfortably exploring the interior like they had been lovers for years.  
  
Her eyes shut as their kissing became more passionate. Pleased, the other nymph smiled approvingly. "Be who you are," the white-haired siren hummed. "This _is_ who you are." She pinched Bulma's broadened nipples, sending an electric jolt through her.  
  
Aroused, Bulma grasped and groped her kissing partner's torso. The nymph obliged, moving rhythmically. Licking her lips, the white-haired one stood aside while the other two laid down, skin-to-skin, savoring each other's ravenous tongues.  
  
Bulma wanted more, but another muddled image appeared. She had to get words out before the thoughts vanished. "I see…him. Someone. Him."  
  
Both nymphs smirked. The one kissing Bulma raised up, rubbing her captive's enlarged breasts soothingly. "I can't tell if this will be easier or harder, Shanlba. She seems to enjoy what we're doing."  
  
Casting suspicious eyes over Bulma's figure, Shanlba sneered and said, "Maybe we should whisper her _prince's_ name in her ear, Riuta. She moves between remembering and forgetting him. It's entertaining me."  
  
"At least Vegeta had good taste," Riuta replied. "Can't say she did, with the likes of him. She is quite...pretty, though. We do not have much time. Let's continue."  
  
Their bewitched hostage became restless enough for Shanlba to entice her with another flower. Bulma gasped and giggled as the scent fueled more euphoria. Nothing else mattered now except what she felt in the moment.  
  
Her head rose as the single-minded nymph spread her legs wide. Riuta pressed on her stomach as Shanlba moved to orally guide Bulma's swollen vagina to orgasm. She whimpered and jerked as the nymph's soft tongue consumed her inside. Her mouth went agape as a finger thrust a sensitive spot below her ass.  
  
Riuta pulled Bulma's arms over her head, holding them down. Now appearing more sinister than her partner, she sucked and bit their captive's breasts, drawing blood. Small cyclones raged around them, hissing incantations. Bulma's blue eyes rolled backward as she moaned. Her wails harmonized with each chant.  
  
"You are ours!" Shanlba cackled gleefully. "Do you want more, _wife of the monkey prince_?"  
  
Hearing those words, "monkey prince," jarred Bulma's psyche enough to see her Vegeta's face _unmistakably_. "My… my husband?"  Screaming with confusion and anger, she thrashed violently. "What…what have you done to me?! Vegeta… Vegeta!"  
  
Contemptuous of the woman's desperate pleas, Shanlba shouted, "You did this to _yourself_ \-- and enjoyed all of it! I wonder what your _bastard_ _prince_ will do after discovering your betrayal!"  
  
Riuta grabbed Shanlba's neck, digging protracted talons into it, while Bulma remained pinned down. "Maybe I wasn't _clear_ enough," she said with a menacing snarl. " _Stop the theatrics_. This is not the time, nor the person. We must complete our duties." Her green eyes turned obsidian black, reminding the punished nymph who had more power.  
  
Bulma clawed at her captors to free herself. Riuta nonchalantly released her ironclad grip on both women, silently warning Shanlba not to recklessly antagonize her again.  
  
Attempting to leave, Bulma stood up unsteadily, but the nymphs' influence had proven formidable. "You _bitches,"_ she slurred. "He…will… _get_ you _bitches_. _"_  
  
"Perhaps." Riuta's pitch-black eyes stared coldly as she lifted the scientist into her arms. "But you will soon belong to a force greater than you."

Bulma mewled as Riuta massaged a shimmering oil all over her body. The orange-colored substance smelled more pungent. The whites of her eyes flushed a deeper pink with each caress.  
  
"Ah…ahhh." She shuddered as the nymph's slick, warm fingers stimulated her clit. " _More_. Give me more. Don't stop."  
  
Her hips rocked upward, aching for Riuta's addictive touch, inviting extreme penetration. Her abductor rewarded the surrender with a luxurious kiss -- and multiple orgasms, mentally fucking her body through countless visions. Some inflicted so much pain that Bulma howled through them.

Riuta didn't need to lay another finger inside of her sumptuous form again. Bulma writhed as the nymph's malevolent force flowed through her. Deranged laughter bulged from her chest. Her arms spread in both directions. Smoky gusts whipped through her hands. Sparks shot from her fingers.  
  
Riuta stood, turning her right palm up. Bulma's wheezing body floated horizontally. Her gaze lost luminosity, now bearing the charcoal shading of the possessed. Her muscles became more defined, enhancing the elegant figure she took pride in.  
  
Shanlba had stretched out on a rock -- far enough away to avoid being choked again -- watching the display. "Look at her eyes."  
  
"I see them," Riuta said, touching Bulma's lavender hair. The nymph knew this woman wouldn't resist anymore.  "She must be bathed before the portal closes."

* * *

Bulma awakened fully dressed and time-disoriented. Her body felt rested and strong, though, except a dull headache had settled in. She recalled reaching the ground earlier, and her excitement after seeing one of nature's beautiful portraits, but not much more.

"Ouch." She winced and rubbed her head. "I must have fallen. This is way too much clumsiness for me in one day. I hope I don't have a concussion." She activated a health monitor to scan for internal injuries. Dying later from a blood clot on the brain would have been a "sub-optimal outcome," as irritable scientists liked to call preventable deaths.  
  
"Your examination is complete, Dr. Brief," the monitor droned. "Your blood pressure is up slightly. No other problems."  
  
"Well, that's just perfect," she replied sarcastically, much like husband would. "I guess I'll take two aspirin then." She also noticed the flowers had closed. Afternoon darkness was on the prowl. Luckily, summer hours offered a reprieve before the sun's disappearance.

"I think I have collected enough specimens for research, so there's no reason to return anytime soon." She opened a tiny pair of shears, staring attentively at the buds. "I'll take some of you with me too. You're such lovely little blossoms."    
  
She blinked and smiled, revealing the pinkish tint's reappearance in her eyes. A small "M" outline appeared on her forehead -- and vanished.

As she reached higher ground, the picturesque landscape behind her disappeared too. She had not noticed, because she didn't care to look back.


	2. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma's mind and body were overtaken by unknown beings during a forest exploration trip. She is herself in some ways, but who knows how long that will continue? With her husband away on another planet, time might work against them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! I appreciate them. Had to give this chapter more thought before posting. Before anyone says, "I can't see XYZ being like this," let me ask: "Why not?" See the explainer for the rest.

Bulma epitomized busyness when she returned to work two days later from her trip. Her pace ran circles around workers at Capsule Corporation already exhausted from trying to keep up with "the big boss" -- and yes, that's what they called her.

Her executive assistant Lianne made decaffeinated coffee on this day, hoping to avoid Bulma's endless, distracting interruptions. She almost danced a jig when her employer departed for the penthouse connected to Capsule's headquarters. Sometimes Bulma stayed when she wanted a change of scenery from her lavish estate on West City's outskirts -- and to keep her hands and mind immersed in company's projects.  
  
She arranged a petite bundle of flowers on a wood-and-marble console table in the living room, humming a melody to herself. Vegeta would be home in two days. Their children would return in two weeks, with their youngest child in summer school near her vacationing older brother. Bulma felt lonely in their vacant house, but her enthusiasm soon returned. Capsule's eager biologists and chemists had new organic specimens to play with, courtesy of her trip to the rainforest, and….  
  
"You look gorgeous, Dr. Brief."  
  
Bulma's back tensed. She recognized the visitor in the mirror before hearing his casual greeting. Her ex-boyfriend from long ago could lay on the charm. She continued grooming, sending a sharp message that he must wait before being addressed formally. She was an angelic vision in white, wearing a sleeveless A-line summer dress. Her black high heels matched stripes decorating the bottom half of the pleated skirt.  
  
For his part, Yamcha's eyes traced every curve of Bulma's voluptuous body: face, arms, legs, breasts. She appeared not to notice. She looked lovelier since they met  six months earlier for business reasons. He observed the wall above the console, tastefully decorated with pictures of Bulma, her children and parents, and Goku and Krillin.

A large photo in the middle stuck out. Bulma stood behind her husband, kissing his cheek, with her arms embracing his chest. Vegeta, whose arms were crossed, looked humorously awkward. His left hand, however, held Bulma's right hand on top, showing his gold wedding ring.  
  
As a man, Yamcha knew that part was intentional. Bulma _belonged_ to the Saiyan prince. _Belonged._ But a dynamic, headstrong woman like her belonging to any man sounded anachronistic. Yamcha hated his pendulum swing between bitter jealousy and grudging admiration for Vegeta's accomplishments.  Goku merely "adopted" the prince as an older brother, accepting his worthiest challenger with the utmost respect. Protecting the universe had become breakfast cereal for those two.  
  
Indeed, Vegeta seemed to have it all: wealth; a brilliant, loving wife; great kids; real friends who would die for him; dazzling fighting skills; high intellect; attractiveness; mystics who trained him to reach new heights; and second and third chances to right his wrongs. Whether he deserved _so much_ good fortune could be debated forever, Yamcha believed. Unfortunately, in his resentful mind, their ensemble of friends who also furthered the greater good were an afterthought.

He had been one of them, and none besides _him_ considered themselves postscripts living in the Saiyan warriors' shadow.  
  
"Phone calls still are _en vogue_ ," Bulma said, observing him. "I don't know how you convinced Lianne to send you up here without telling me, but I'm firing her."  
  
Yamcha grinned. "You're not firing her, and I did call. Three times. It's been a month, kid."  
  
"I've been busy," Bulma said, pressing a button under the desk. A robot carrying spring water scooted next to Yamcha. "Don't you have some baseball games to coach? Aren't your players missing your poor attempts at humor?"  
  
"There are such things as assistant coaches, Bulma. May I rest my legs now on that fancy furniture?"  
  
Bulma sat down at her desk.  Her tightly pursed lips reflected skepticism. "I prefer hearing what you truly want. More money? I can't do that."  
  
"I need more time to repay the rest of the loan," Yamcha said, sitting on the sofa. She kept talking, which he considered a suitable first-base run. "You know I'm not a deadbeat. My business is nearing a larger profit margin."   
  
Bulma dropped ice into a crystal gin glass. "I want to see the money books, Yamcha. I have been hands-off for two years, accepting plain financial statements from  you quarterly. Everyone needs space when building a business, but something isn't right. Get your accountant and tell me what  _in the hell_ is really going on."   
  
Yamcha's loud tongue click scolded her. "It's a little early for gin and tonic, don't you think?"  
  
"Actually, I don't," Bulma replied, mixing her cocktail. "It's 1 p.m. Besides, the lime odor will calm your sensitive nose -- and changing the subject won't work."  
  
"So how long are Goku and Vegeta gone this time?"  
  
"Damn it." Bulma set the glass down. "One afternoon drink doesn't mean I'm upset about another trip. That's just silly. It's their job. They are just as passionate about their mission as I am about mine. Move on."  
  
Yamcha frowned. "Please, spare me the sermon about their higher calling. Goku I can accept. We've been there for each other since we were teenagers. Vegeta, well --"  
  
Bulma's fingers tapped impatiently on her desk. "You're treading on dangerous ground. _Back off_ _or get out._ What is wrong with you?"  
  
Yamcha held his hands up, calling for a truce. "Maybe I overstepped." He retreated for the bar, choosing a glass to pour another gin and tonic. "Want this one?"  
  
Bulma crossed her arms. "No."  
  
"Fine."  He licked the glass stirrer and winked. "I'll keep this perfection for myself."  
  
"So it's not too early for you?"  
  
"Not at all." Yamcha sipped slowly from the much-taller highball glass before setting it on her desk. "I'm not creating new products and overseeing more than one-hundred employees currently. Tell me, does Vegeta know about the loan?"  
  
Feeling uneasy, Bulma moved away from him. She almost regretted having the alcohol, although the drink shouldn't have affected her much. She ate a hearty brunch earlier. Still, her head felt cloudy.  "Of course he knows, Yamcha. Why are you asking now? He didn't oppose it, obviously."  
  
He dismissed her avoidance tactic. "He didn't like it either, I bet."  
  
Bulma's tension amplified. Yamcha pushed enough of her buttons today. She couldn't understand her intense anger with him, though. Her chest felt like it would explode. "You know, I'm _done_ with the inquisition. You're being inappropriate. I don't know what’s happening with you, but you must--"  
  
"I'm leaving," he said, cutting her off. "I just want to know why. I think I deserve an answer. Why him?"  
  
Bulma put on her toughest blank face before escorting him out. No fake smile or blazing anger. Whatever answer he sought, she didn't care to address. She didn't owe him an explanation, especially about Vegeta.  
  
"From this point forward, don't visit or call me until you pull yourself together. Don't worry about repaying me either. I always will consider you a friend, though."  
  
"What are you afraid of, Bulma? You two have been together for years. Surely you can offer an old friend justification, hmm?"  
  
Bulma didn't notice an open flower on the console. Feeling lightheaded from its faint bouquet, she left Yamcha at the door. "You can… can show yourself out."  
  
He didn't follow at first, hoping Bulma wouldn't let him leave without having the last word. He felt amused that baiting her triumphed. All marriages have cracks, no matter how loving. Her blue eyes showed adequate uncertainty about hers, he thought.

Her protests meant nothing to him now. He had more than enough ammunition to blow a hole through the cement.  
  
Bulma passed the floor mirror, which reflected another woman's image. She massaged her temples, trying to relieve her wooziness. Her eye whites turned pink as the female apparition calmly watched.   
  
Yamcha took her hand. "Hey, are you all right? Since when did you become a lightweight with alcohol? Wow. Your eyes even look a bit bloodshot."  
  
Bulma nodded. Despite being angry, she appreciated his concern. The gentleman from her youth finally reappeared. He looked just as handsome, too. "I'm fine. This is the _only time_ I admit you're right. I shouldn't have had a drink this early. I didn't eat enough at brunch, I suppose."

  
Yamcha led her to the sofa. His hand rested on the small of her back. "I was wrong. I guess, you know, an older single guy like me gets nostalgic sometimes. I have dated more than my fair share of women."  
  
Bulma stretched her legs on the cushions , chuckling. "Tell me about it -- and then some."  
  
"You act like I never wanted a partner to share my life with. My luck is poor in that area." Yamcha swallowed the hurt from admitting his shame. But he took comfort after seeing the rosy tint in Bulma's eyes.   
  
The sentient flower's subdued aroma wafted overhead. No need to overpower the woman's senses now. Her body would be vulnerable as long as required. The force inhabiting her would see to that.  
  
"What do you want me to say?" she asked in a mild daze. "That I regret being with the father of my children? That's like saying I...I regret being a woman."  
  
Feeling warm, she pointed at Yamcha to lower the air conditioning's temperature. He retrieved the remote on her desk, increasing the room's humidity instead. Bulma guzzled a glass of water and laid back. Her eyelids drooped from sleepiness.  
  
Yamcha knew he could push her harder. The hypnotic flower's influence equaled an effective truth serum.  "Tell me, _why him_? I'm ready to hear it."  
  
 "Bandit, I think I...I want a nap. We can discuss this later."  
  
Yamcha bent down to adjust her pillows. "No, we can't. Not this time."  
  
"The answer is...Vegeta and I are more alike than different," she said, blinking sluggishly at him. "That's why."  
  
Yamcha scowled. _How could she say that? How could she let that guy brainwash her like this?_   No matter what he achieved, Vegeta still was a "kept man." Bulma did _everything_ for him. He wouldn't be the redeemed, honorable "prince of all Saiyans" had she not provided tools to feed his ego-maniacal pride.  
  
"Like hell you are," he said. " _Like hell you are_. You are better."  
  
Feeling heady from the heat, fragrance, and alcohol, Bulma's mind floated. "If…if you say so," she said, touching his face.  "But you should...leave."  
  
Yamcha kissed her palm. "Never. I shouldn't have given up on winning you back. You're the most beautiful, talented woman I've ever known. I've been so lonely."  
  
He glanced at the flower bud before leaning in to kiss her.  
  
Bulma's rheumy eyes opened wide from shock. She quickly pushed him off, trying to regain her senses. "What the hell… do…do you think you're doing?! Are you out of your mind?! Do you want your body torn apart and torched? Because Vegeta will --"  
  
Yamcha's tender voice went cold. " _Do what_? Do you really think I fear him? I couldn't care less. I don't have much to lose, beyond the obvious in front of me."  
  
Bulma had to bluff her way out. Yamcha struggled with his place in the world, but he was no rapist. He couldn't be. He was one of "the good ones" who lost his way, she thought -- she hoped -- but he had to be knocked back into being rational.  
  
Death threats were OK temporarily to reach that goal.  
  
"Get out now before I set…set off every _fucking_ alarm in _this fucking_ penthouse," she spat. "The goddamned lasers are  _set to kill_ and will follow you _on the way out,_ too. Do yourself a favor and get a therapist. I...don't know what else to say."  
  
Yamcha played with open blossom on the console. "You have good taste, beautiful." 

As if the flower recognized his intentions, its petals shut.  
  
His ki disintegrated the bud, sending iridescent powder with precision across the room. Sticky residue spattered Bulma's face and hair, forcing her to cough.  
  
"Oh, god." Now she feared that Yamcha  _was_  insane. "What have you done?"  She inhaled more dust as she coughed. Her eyes glazed over from the swift impact. Sweat soaked her dress as she stumbled.  
  
Yamcha blew more powder as he approached. He felt sexually aroused watching her resistance fall. Losing all inhibition, Bulma fell back onto the sofa, panting and laughing and lusting from the effects. Each potent exposure left her higher than before.  
  
Everything worked as intended, Yamcha thought.   
  
She would be his.  
  
"You won't remember anything for now," he said, observing her feverish ecstasy. "They told me so."  
  
He moved her hips to feel his dick's growing hardness. Bulma's drunken eyes submitted as they kissed. She touched his dick's rounded tip and ridges. Visions of their youthful escapades mysteriously transferred from his mind to hers.   
  
"This feels so good," she panted, opening her legs to masturbate. "So...good. I need you. Make me feel what you feel."  
  
Yamcha felt like a thirsty man at a desert oasis. Bulma said those words once when they made love. Claiming her body felt magnificent.  He soon would have as much sex as he wanted. She would remember her love for him and spurn Vegeta.   
  
Bulma also had a robust, _recognizable_ ki now. That might be a problem later, Yamcha thought, considering her husband's strong attachment to her. He didn't want to blow his cover, but right then it didn't matter. He regained what Vegeta stole and  far from done making the prince pay for it.  
  
He launched into a stronger kiss, removing Bulma's lace panties. "Tell me you want me again,"  he whispered in her ear. "I need to hear it again."  
  
Bulma's face darkened as the demon's "M" flamed on her head. She seized Yamcha's throat, furiously throwing him like a rag doll across the room. He managed to stop mid-flight, soaring near the ceiling.  
  
The signature of her possession, that of the Majin, disappeared before he could witness it. 

Yamcha's beliefs about Bulma's condition didn't match reality. Hubris had possessed _him_.   
  
Bulma looked up, daring him to return. "Tell me, _earthling_ , why do you court misfortune? I tolerated your behavior long enough, weighing whether to crush your neck.  _It's not your time yet. Y_ ou're not as strong as you think -- and your guard was down."  
  
The creature's raspy voice sounded nothing like Bulma's. The crooked, intimidating smile looked nothing like hers either.  
  
Yamcha stayed calm. He wouldn't give this peevish _thing_ the satisfaction of sensing any fear. "Where is she, woman?"  
   
Angry veins swelled around Bulma's temples. "You asked _enough_ questions with the vulvaleta plant's generous help. Then you selfishly killed its innocent child! It is not my problem that you disliked Bulma's answer about her Saiyan mate. Thus, you get _no more questions_ after this greedy and reckless attempt to ravish her _._ You don't trust that she will be yours? We are preparing her, and you, for that purpose."  
  
Yamcha couldn't argue his way out of this. "I wasn't trying to hurt her. I would never hurt her."  
  
 "You will be patient then," she replied, shattering his glass with a ki beam. "Our agreement stands. We deliver when you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some thoughts: Yamcha took unfair advantage of Bulma's trust and their history together because he could. He's the so-called "the nice guy" -- until he's not. Bulma didn't get him out fast enough because of trust, even when her intuition nagged. Even when he's actively attacking her, she hesitates. She never thought he would. None of this is her fault. Unfortunately, Yamcha has fallen into the "by any means necessary" trap to get what he wants. 
> 
> Please take a minute to leave a comment if you can. Thanks for your support.


	3. Evil Done Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma's old boyfriend Yamcha has revealed his intentions, seeking help from the dubious forces manipulating her mind and body. Elsewhere, a sense of foreboding is pushing Vegeta and Bulma's "extended family" into consultation with each other.

True warriors don't rest on their laurels. Peace isn't guaranteed. Preservation of what's important requires prudence. Strength is multidimensional.  
  
Piccolo meditated on these maxims. He lived by them. Goku and Vegeta, as well. Especially Vegeta.  
  
The Namekian sage and the Saiyan prince had come far. While the two weren't close, they understood life's darker complexities in ways Goku never would. They had lived impure lives. Both appreciated each other's respective talents, intelligence, sense of nobility, and capacity to change.  
  
Piccolo kept watchful eyes on magic and divination practitioners on Earth whenever he desired. Some were born with innate talents; others learned useful and interesting techniques. 

Anyone could be corrupted.  
  
Testing one's limits can breed wicked, destructive desires to subjugate innocents. Evil is antimatter to the good, coming in all forms and at tiered levels.  Frieza, Vegeta's lifelong nemesis, was chillingly evil. His behavior, however, didn't attract red-alert emergency intervention from higher gods. He was a thug other mortals would likely imprison or execute once they had the proper tools. The kais didn't worry about him _destroying_ the entire universe, until Frieza sought immortality to remake everything in his image.  
  
That was a game changer, and Frieza remained dead by the hands of Saiyans. 

Piccolo also concerned himself with access. Demon clans existed throughout the universe, across many races -- and, of course, tested their abilities. Certain groups cultivated impressive magical talents despite other weaknesses.  
  
Portals opened randomly across dimensions, too, or between realms within the same space. They also could be blasted open and kept ajar long enough to do significant damage.  
  
Piccolo and Dende, Earth's Namekian guardian, sensed unusual temporal disturbances for months. Neither pinpointed the source, but they had to prepare. Goku and Vegeta could be summoned from their trip if necessary, among others.  
  
Piccolo also sought Baba the fortuneteller's help. She offered reflections but guaranteed nothing to visitors seeking her assistance. "People can change their futures," she said, "which is why I'm not meant to see everything."  
  
After consulting her crystal ball, she paused and brushed her hands over it again. One development appeared constant. Something had to be done.  
  
"Get Son Goku here now. Vegeta is in danger. That's all I know."  
  
The disturbing news didn't fracture Piccolo's calm. Sensing another disturbance, he opened Baba's window.  "I should tell Bulma."  
  
"No," the tiny witch warned. "Just follow my instructions. Have Goku convince Vegeta to stay where they are right now. Lying about the reason might be required."  
  
Piccolo didn't budge. "You want Son summoned back to help, to lie, and not to tell Vegeta's _wife?_ That asks much from him -- and me. What are you not telling?"  
  
"I _know_ it's not the time for more revelations, Piccolo, because I have none.  My clairvoyance says evil is stalking him on Earth again. Isn't that enough?"  
  
Piccolo recalled ghastly images of Vegeta under demonic influence and, when the prince broke free, his subsequent suicide attempt to stop Majin Buu's global genocide. "I remember what happened, and Vegeta's will is stronger than ever. He also has an armada of supporters ready to help."  
  
"He does," Baba replied, flying beside him on her crystal ball. "You were wise to come. I am honored to have your trust."  
  
Piccolo's eyes offered a playful tease. "I suppose you expect payment."  Baba rarely offered free services. Apocalyptic threats meant nothing. He came prepared to pay, opening a capsule containing five-million Zeni.  
  
The old woman's hands rubbed together. "This is somewhat on the low end, but I don't mind offering a discount. Your former pupil gives you an allowance now? Amazing."  
  
Piccolo reattached his cape and replied, "I babysit and train Gohan's with daughter, with both grandfathers' permission. Her father is more than a pupil to me."  
  
Baba laughed through her anxiousness. "We're wasting time. Get out of here."

* * *

One would think that Goku read minds also. He planned to seek Bulma's permission for Vegeta to stay another week for physical training and other educational pursuits. He knew the prince wouldn't ask Bulma under threat of starvation in _several ways_ afterward.

Goku also didn't tell Vegeta. He couldn't stomach a nightmarish torrent of curses and admonitions. Better to apologize to the raging Saiyan wrecking ball later. Besides, he knew Vegeta's pride would take a back seat if Bulma granted her blessing to them.  
  
He unwisely forgot the prince had better hearing than some gods, even when asleep.  
  
Vegeta's arms stretched before neatly settling behind his neck. "Just where the hell are you going in the middle of the night, Kakarot?"  
  
"Erm… jogging?" Nervous, Goku scratched his head. "I can't sleep."  
  
Vegeta smirked. "That's a new one. _Do tell_. Nightmare? I need a good laugh."  
  
"I'm going to see King Kai, asshole."  
  
Vegeta didn't give a damn about hiding his suspicion. Like some "little brothers," Goku lied terribly when confronted. Perhaps he could threaten the man into confession. "We don't have much time left. Can't the visit wait?"  
  
"You won't get lonely, Vegeta. Our monk and Old Kai like you. Use this time for reflection."  
  
Vegeta rolled over in bed. "They like me because I brought enough food and magazines showing beautiful women to last a millennia. Fine. Do whatever you want."  
  
Goku smiled proudly in the dark. "See you soon, friend." From there, with one touch on the forehead, he disappeared. Vegeta's remaining doubt melted as he returned to sleep.  
  
As usual, Dende's kind smile greeted the Saiyan at the guardian's Lookout. "Goku! You're back early! Where is Vegeta?"  
  
"Well, I returned to ask Bulma to let him stay another week."  
  
Laughing, Dende walked to the Lookout's southern rim. " _You_ are _asking_ another the man's wife for permission? And Bulma of all people? I take it Vegeta is unaware of your deceit. You lied skillfully this time, although I don't favor that behavior."  
  
"I said I would visit King Kai to give Vegeta a calmer day. What's happening?"  
  
"First, thank you for making me laugh," Dende said, waving his monk's staff. "Piccolo and I have felt disturbances in different quadrants. He is investigating, and now --"  
  
"He's landing." Goku sat down, crossing his legs. "He sensed my arrival fast." His back straightened, knowing their chat would probably be a doozy. Piccolo appeared aloof and puzzling to others at times, but Goku knew automatically when the Namekian had prepared for complex mental karate.  
  
He nodded, sitting across from him. "Son."  
  
"What's the problem, friend?"  
  
"Keep Vegeta where he is right now."  
  
"That's why I'm here," Goku said, fiddling with his gi's belt. "I'm asking Bulma to let him stay another week. But you've got something different in mind."  
  
"I visited Baba about the disturbances Dende and I are tracking. She believes they are evil and linked to Vegeta somehow."  
  
"Have you told Bulma?" Dende asked, noticing Goku's reserved response.  
  
"Baba asks us not to," Piccolo said.  
  
"Oh my," Dende uttered. "Resolving this just became ten times harder."  
  
Goku's normally placid face had "no" all over it. "Guys, I won’t keep anything from Bulma. She's one my best friends -- and too smart. She'll ask a thousand questions. Even if they both agree that he stays there, I must explain why I wouldn't be with him."  
  
"You must do the best you can," Piccolo said. "Dende and I need more time to connect puzzle pieces."  
  
"But I wouldn't expect you to keep this kind of bad news about me from my wife," Goku protested.  
  
Piccolo bristled, recalling struggles they faced together as fighters and friends. He disliked deception immensely, preferring brutal honesty. For him to suggest preventing someone from knowing the whole truth at first should have been a red flag. "Goku, what if bad news gravely endangers Chi Chi when, instead, she could be protected effectively in the short-term?"  
  
"Maybe a partial solution is sending Bulma and their children to Vegeta's location," Dende suggested.  
  
Piccolo's deafening silence signaled his rejection. "I'm going into the temple to think. Feed yourself in the meantime, friend."  
  
Frustrated, Goku blocked his path.  "You believe Bulma is involved somehow, don't you? Did you plan on keeping _that_ from me?"  
  
"I don't have to, apparently," Piccolo said. The disturbing possibility didn't hit the brooding Namekian until landing at the Lookout. If true, would Vegeta and Bulma be pitted _against_ each other? Although Goku's resolve outmatched a bull elephant's, this outcome could cripple his judgement. Bulma held a special place in her friend's big heart.  
  
Goku had made hard choices -- some stunningly bad, others spectacular. But he was nowhere near ordinary: He prepared to win but didn't fear failure. He gambled big as a metaphorical alley cat using its "nine lives" to the fullest.  
  
But his friends' marriage was different. Everything was different.  
  
"It's telling that Baba delivered nothing on that end," Piccolo said. "Bulma's love has touched him in ways I believed unthinkable. Evil _done well_ chases one's strongest vulnerability -- and Bulma is Vegeta's now, which means she _must be_ watched closely."  
  
Goku grew angry. He sensed condescension in Piccolo's response. Logically he knew his friend had good intentions, but it rankled to be lectured about evil's sly manipulations.  
  
"What do you mean _evil done well_? Every type of evil, living and dead, has attacked me ferociously since I was a little kid. It's harassed everything important to me -- what you call vulnerabilities. To be honest, you and Vegeta are exceptions. You both overcame doubts others had -- and you had --on whether you could be better people. Just because I seek greater challenges as a fighter doesn't mean I've lost sight. I have earned the right to be what I am."  
  
Dende's staff pounded the floor. "Enough," he said softly. "You both make good points, and you each have sacrificed to protect loved ones. But Goku, um, I believe I understand what Piccolo is getting at now."  
  
"What then?" Frustration chewed on Goku's pride. Was it jealousy? Fierce competitiveness defined him, but these newer feelings were deeply unsettling. He never experienced them regardless of others' wealth, station in life, or strength.

Dende's staff spun, projecting memorable scenes they preferred to forget.  
  
After a brief silence, a grim-faced Goku summoned a cloud puff between his palms.  "You really think it could happen again."  
  
"I don't know."  Dende held his arm, offering kind reassurance.  "You two Saiyans make the impossible possible, surprising _gods_ even, and help many. Goku, you usually don't brood about the past. Until now I had no idea you still carry guilt and fear over Vegeta's stability since that terrible event. Your defensiveness reveals that stress."  
  
"Surely you don't, Goku?" Piccolo asked him. "Vegeta made a choice, thinking he could control an outcome that almost destroyed all of us. He alone left the door open for that despicable sorcerer Babadi to nearly shatter his mind beyond recognition."  
  
"It is no small achievement that Vegeta listens to you," Dende said to Goku.  
  
"Vegeta redeemed himself far beyond any other man I've ever known," Goku replied. "Especially after growing up under a vile monster like Frieza. That's why he is my friend and one of the fighters I respect most."  
  
"Exactly," Piccolo said, "and that's why I am telling you this." 

* * *

  
Bulma woke up startled and alone in the penthouse. She had been cuddled under a blanket but the living room felt like a freezer. Then she recalled her talk with Yamcha about his business loan and her attempt to show him out. She also remembered feeling out of sorts and him accompanying her to the sofa.  
  
No, wait.  
  
Was there something else? Her eyes closed. _My mind feels buried in a hole. Maybe I need to see real doctor about my fall in the forest_. But she felt fine after returning. The drink might be a culprit, as well. _Yes, now I remember! I shouldn't have taken that allergy medicine earlier. Did I take it? Damn it._  
  
She saw folded stationery from the coffee table. Yamcha's initials were scrawled on top.  
  
A crooked happy face preceded the message: _Hey, I overstayed my welcome. I apologize about our semi-argument. You weren't feeling well and fell asleep, so I stayed for a bit. Lianne came up to check and will be back soon. Stay out of trouble, beautiful. -- Yamcha._

Feeling confused, Bulma crushed the note. She had dueling dreams. In one, she snuggled within Yamcha's comforting embrace after a dinner with her parents. She hadn't thought about that happy memory in years.  
  
That dream dissolved into hungry, billowy waves of black smoke. At first she felt suffocated and angry. Large male hands pulled her further into the plume. She didn't recognize the man with reddish eyes and stark white hair. He kissed her, breathing smoke into her body. She couldn't resist -- or didn't want to.  
  
Weird dreams plagued her for months. She couldn't call them nightmares; instead, within them, she navigated through surrealist landscapes and strange interactions. Some had muted sexual overtones, like this one. Others poked at her insecurities.  
  
Vegeta held Bulma closer in bed whenever she seemed restless. She would share the problem with him eventually, he thought at first. But three months passed without a word from her about it, so he planned to ask after returning from his trip.

  
"How are you feeling, Dr. Brief? I brought tea."  
  
"Lianne, you are skating on thin ice with me," Bulma said curtly to the nervous-looking young woman. "It will take more than tea to make up for what you did today."  
  
"I'm…I'm… sorry. I figured it would be OK sending him up since you've done business together and known each other a long time. He didn't knock?"  
  
"What do you think?" Bulma's eyes rolled as she sipped tea. "He's a good-looking older guy and very charming. You, my dear, are twenty-three and have had exactly one boyfriend, who barely could lift an ink pen. Did Yamcha give you his personal cell number?"  
  
"I game him mine," Lianne said, blushing. "Are you upset?"  
  
Bulma shook her head. "You are a smart woman in many ways, but use common sense. What if Yamcha were the type of guy who wanted to use you to keep an eye on me? You have been honest, though, which tells me this is a rookie mistake."  
  
Lianne stopped holding her breath. "You're not going to fire me?"  
  
After nibbling on a cracker, Bulma poured more tea. "No, but you can't work in this position anymore. You will be reassigned. It's good to see other parts of the company anyhow."  
  
"Thank you for your generosity, Dr. Brief. Do you need anything else?"  
  
Bulma's hand flapped lazily, shooing her. "No, but thank you for the goodies and checking on me. The tea is amazing, by the way. I'm ending my workday early. Go home. I'll have the marketing manager contact you tomorrow."  
  
"Thank again, so much." Delighted, Lianne followed Bulma to the front door. "I'm glad you enjoyed the tea. I left a large container on the kitchen counter. It's better for you than coffee. Maybe your husband will like it too."  
  
Bulma passed a small oval-shaped mirror. Lianne paused, noticing the creature's reflection. She looked back at the coffee table, smiling.  
  
A buzzer rang from the main office downstairs. Exasperated, Bulma's teeth gritted. "I really don't need any more interruptions today. Please answer the call button and tell whoever it is I can't be disturbed. I'm running to the bedroom to finish relaxing."  
  
"Yes ma'am." Lianne switched the buzzer off, setting it to reactivate in three hours. She also attached two paper strips bearing the "ma" symbol -- evil's talisman -- behind the mirror. The bedroom door slammed shut as she hummed a haunting melody evocative of cellist's dirge. Muffled screams and pounding followed.   
  
"They spend and spend to make their opulent homes prisons," she said as Bulma's moaning ended abruptly. "What a pity."  
  
Goku and another office assistant were surprised no one responded from the penthouse. Workers closer to Bulma's main office often addressed the friendly man informally. He didn't hang out at headquarters much, but everyone liked seeing him.  
  
"What would you like to do, Goku? I can call another number."  
  
Lianne barreled back into the office suite, preparing to call Yamcha. Recognizing the uninvited visitor, she withheld an emerging frown. Bulma had not mentioned Goku or Vegeta lately. Why was one here without the other?  
  
"Oh, hello," she said with a snobbish, disapproving tone. "How can I help you, sir?"  
  
"Sir?" the other assistant chimed. "Stop that. Lianne, you know this is Dr. Brief's friend Goku, right? He's just dressed differently."  
  
"Hi there," Goku replied warmly. "Did you hear the buzzer up there? Is Bulma OK?"  
  
"I'm sorry…Goku," Lianne drawled, glaring briefly at her chatty coworker. "She isn't feeling well today. She left for the bedroom with instructions not to be disturbed, so I shut off the buzzer for a few hours."  
  
People sometimes mistook Goku's disarming friendliness for blanket gullibility. He could be clueless at times, yes, but more often he used others' assumptions to his advantage. Fighters of his caliber wrote the gold-standard playbook on observational techniques.  
  
Rather than ask why Lianne didn't answer the page herself, he nodded. "Would you do me a favor, please? Have Bulma call my son Gohan. We'll return when she's seeing visitors again."  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"Thank you!" Goku considered teleporting into the penthouse. But no one needed a front-row seat. First, he had to escape far from prying eyes -- likely Lianne's. She probably had buddies on Capsule's security team for her own uses, he thought.  
  
_Damn it. I must leave the entire campus._ He strolled out, jogging at a human's pace. Then he ran. Then he flew, meeting his son inside of a dark building.  
  
"Dad? What have you gotten yourself into? Where is Vegeta?"  
  
Goku sighed. "Vegeta is very popular today, apparently. I have to teleport inside his and Bulma's penthouse, Gohan. Keep the cell near in case she calls."  
  
"OK, fine. Can I at least know the entirety of this cat-and-mouse game? I have a kid of my own to deal with right now."  
  
Goku touched his temple. "Check in with Piccolo. I love you, my kid. Bye."  
  
"Damn it, dad!" Gohan wanted to smack him. Goku was the squirrel everyone chased.  
  
His father also had a strong stomach for gore and foul odors, but the acrid metallic smell in Bulma's sprawling penthouse nearly tripped Goku's gag reflex. He scooted between the kitchen and other locations to find Bulma, who wasn't in the master bedroom.

 He couldn't find a smoke source either.  
  
"Bulma! Honey, are you here? Bulma?"  
  
She was nowhere to be found, until she appeared out of nowhere in a silk robe and slippers, holding a tall glass of gin and tonic on the rocks. Goku wondered if Lianne had lied to protect her employer.

Maybe Bulma wasn't sick; just drunk.

He didn't know what to make of this. What so upset her to end the day early, curled up and alone with booze? Goku felt slightly relieved Vegeta wasn't there -- and ashamed. The prince's inevitable and likely unpleasant fusillade of questions would aim _at him_ first.  
  
Bulma sipped and waved like dainty party hostess. "Heeeyyy, Goku. What are you doing here? What's happening? How did you get in? Oh, wait. Yeah. What the hell are you doing breaking in? Didn't we have an agreement that you wouldn't teleport inside unless there's an emergency?"  
  
"You don't smell that nasty odor?"  
  
"Don't get bent out of shape, dude." Bulma glanced past him, leaning like a windblown tree branch. "I think a light fixture has an electrical short. I'll turn on the ventilation fan. You're home early. This is fantastic! Where's big daddy?"  
  
Goku blinked, wondering if he heard correctly. "Uh, who is that?"  
  
"Aw, you know who I'm talking about!" Bulma slurred as she raised her glass at him. "My handsome man! The purrrr…purrrr...prince."

Another day, another fucking nightmare. Goku rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. That's what I came to talk about, but this might not be the best time."  
  
"Heh." Bulma raised her glass again, toasting the skylights. "I _see_ you have some hare-brained idea. It better be good, and Vegeta better show up soon to make me say yes."   
  
Goku's sharp reflexes blocked her stumbling fall, but not the drink's crash _._ His senses buzzed as they touched, prompting another eye scan of the room. He also noticed the stationery on the floor with Yamcha's initials, picking it up after leading Bulma to the sofa.  
  
He took a longer look at her clothing _after_ reading the note. At this point he didn't care if Bulma found it intrusive, but she wasn't paying close attention.   
  
He refused to jump to the smallest conclusions. Doing so could be catastrophic. He strove to avoid unleashing a rabid, frothing Vegeta on innocent men. Meditation practice had paid off well for the prince over the years. Goku wanted to keep it that way. But he wasn't pleased about Yamcha being there, either. The man's flirtation practically screamed from that note.   
  
Bulma's parasite enjoyed watching them. Her host had been on a _splendid little trip_ before he arrived. Rapid drunkenness was a fun sidebar during the outing.

There would be more.  
  
_Poor guy,_ the flame-haired apparition mused. _All of you men so beguiled by her-- even you once, I suspect. Too bad none can save her from destiny -- or Vegeta. That fool Yamcha is the worst, but we may have a little fun before we're done with him._  
  
Goku could only hope Vegeta's suspicion wouldn't take over. He might have to tell him about Piccolo and Dende's concerns after returning.  
  
Evil's psychic energy could be strong, depending on the individual or otherworldly forces wielding it. Darkness also feeds arrogance. He and Vegeta took down the arrogant ones well. Opponents who controlled that side proved more challenging -- and often scarier.  
  
Bulma seemed to be craving something, her friend thought. He didn't sense evil.

* * *

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